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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826715">think of me and my two hands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted'>constanted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fjorclay week 2020! [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dreams, Dreamsharing, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unresolved Romantic Tension, fjorclay week</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 11:40:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23826715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Caduceus can’t trust his eyes in dreams like this, but he knows that voice like he knows any other thing that shows up unexpectedly and grows wild and takes over—weeds, wildflowers, and a certain Fjord of the Mighty Nein.</p><p>(or: what if we shared a dream and we're both boys haha that's impossible... unless?)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caduceus Clay/Fjord</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fjorclay week 2020! [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>think of me and my two hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>mmmmmmmm not happy with this but hey. boys.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Black sand, pale pink flowers and bright green leaves growing from dunes; the sun sets over the ocean and it’s lovely, it’s lovely, and it’s terribly hard to trust. His dreams of the ocean are so rarely pleasant—a body of water is a threat to a body of blood. He could drown. He could see his reflection, next to another reflection that’s more statuesque. He could watch a cadaver dragged by a Creature that’s Wrong—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he stands in the sea, and this dream is not a threat so far. The water hits his knees, his trousers are rolled up just high enough to not be dampened. He smells salt and those flowers, like honey perhaps, or like rebirth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is someone on the beach. Too short to be Her or a member of his family. Broad-shouldered, wide-shadowed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So this dream <em>is</em> a threat, now, maybe. This person’s a manifestation of anxiety, maybe, unidentifiable as they are. He can’t stand dreams like these, where he can’t trust his eyes—his senses are usually the parts of him that always tell the truth; they are not liars like stomachs or hearts or minds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There is something in the figure’s hands, new. Large—a weapon?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Caduceus knows his strengths. She has told them to him, and he has tried to believe Her. so he relies on his heart—his heart can be a liar, but it is still a strength—and he speaks to the figure, “Hello. Would you come over here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The figure looks at their hands, at the weapon, and their posture goes softer. And they step forward, but stop, say, “Identify yourself,” and, well, Caduceus can’t trust his eyes in dreams like this, but he knows that voice like he knows any other thing that shows up unexpectedly and grows wild and takes over—weeds, wildflowers, and a certain Fjord of the Mighty Nein.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi,” Caduceus says, feels a smile creep up his face. This is a dream, and this is not Fjord, and the Fjord in his dreams is a Fjord he can <em>want</em> without his conscious mind scolding him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">dream-Fjord steps closer, sword still drawn, and suddenly his figure is clear—bright with color and sharp-angled, and there are vines and flowers crawling up his skin. “Hi, Caduceus,” dream-Fjord says, tilts his head. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is honest, and he says, “I’m dreaming. And you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dr—I’m dreaming as well, I suppose.” dream-Fjord laughs. “Of course that’s what you say.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I say a lot of things, I’d hope I’m not getting too predictable. I mean. I’d like you to know me, I suppose. But that’s frightening, to a degree. Those flowers are beautiful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have them, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So Caduceus investigates, notes that yes, he does have flowers on his skin as well. How lovely, he thinks, to grow something even in sleep. like dying, or like metamorphosis. “Perhaps it’s Her blessing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“…Perhaps.” The paladin steps into the water. His paladin steps closer to him. “Is this a nice dream?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’d very much like to hope so. Most of my dreams about the ocean aren’t as kind as this one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If I’m being honest, nor are mine. At least, they weren’t for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure She’ll change that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She has, a little bit. But She didn’t for you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She might be changing it right now. This is a nice dream, I’ve decided.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because there’s you, and there’s flowers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A tilt of the head from dream-Fjord, another few steps closer. He doesn’t mind his trousers being covered in water. “So what do you dream about, if you’re not dreaming of the ocean? Or of flowers, or of me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, the latter two aren’t so uncommon. I dream a lot about blight, and about mushrooms, and about crystals. And lately, I dream about statues, but that’s less pleasant. You once told me that you dreamed of the ocean kindly, before.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I did. perhaps not kindly so much as with… reverence.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good word.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re so good with words.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hah, thank you? you’re too kind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well. I’d argue I’m never kind enough. You deserve more kindness.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">dream-Fjord fidgets with his holy symbol. The sword is gone. Caduceus takes his hands. dream-Fjord takes Caduceus’ hands back. dream-Fjord’s are calloused, sea-worn, lovely. “You do, too,” dream-Fjord says, which is an odd thing for dream-Fjord to say. usually he is just thankful. “I don’t… I’ve no idea how I can even begin to return the kindness you’ve shown me, so….”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So don’t return it. You don’t need to. You do enough, just by being you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>by coming where you’ve come from,</em> Caduceus does not say, <em>and sharing what you know; you inspire me. </em>That is the kindest thing Caduceus has ever heard anyone tell him. He does not often remember things, but he remembers that; it weighs on his shoulders like—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Well. Like a stone. Perhaps that’s too on-the-nose.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this the nice kind of dream where I kiss you?” dream-Fjord asks, and it is jarring to hear in a dream, really; Fjord in his mind is usually a bit more confident about this sort of thing. Perhaps it’s been too long since Jester read one of her books out loud; perhaps those were what influenced that sort of part of these dreams.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s not quite sure what kissing should feel like, so his dreams are usually more a sensation fo warmth at this point, but, well, this is different, this is—</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Caduceus wakes up. His hair is in his face. He needs to ask Yasha or Beau to help him trim the side, soon. Or Fjord, who is also awake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dream?” Caduceus asks, because Fjord looks nervous.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Fjord says back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Was it—was it that <em>Thing</em>? Was it—?”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, it was… it was nice. The nicest. I think I’d like to have it again. But—I got nervous.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can make tea.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I insist on making you tea.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So they walk to the galley, and they make tea. Shelda stares at them as they pass her, mutters something too rude for Caduceus to repeat in Elvish. Fjord asks him to repeat it, though, so he says, “Lots of very rude words in there. At least six <em>re’ikje</em>s and two <em>nilay</em>s.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know what those mean—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And you shouldn’t. They’re <em>very </em>rude. Now,” they enter the galley, “Time for tea. I stole some off of my sisters, so—Casala, Inkwell, or Wren? All good for sleep and anxiety. I drank… a lot of Wren, when I was alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll take that, then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Caduceus prepares it. Honey and lemon for Fjord, just honey for himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you, Caduceus,” half-teasingly, sweetly. “You have a dream tonight?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm. A nice one, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s good. That’s—yeah. Just. Checkin’ in. You know. You don’t have to—stay awake. If you wouldn’t like. I didn’t have a nightmare, I just—got nervous.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I like spending time with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fjord smiles, a little strangely. Sighs. Seems to notice something—“You’ve got something—can I—?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Caduceus nods, feels Fjord’s hand (calloused, sea-worn, lovely) brush over his ear, which twitches, feels ticklish as it’s touched. And Fjord pulls out a full blossom, pale pink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not sure how that got there,” Caduceus laughs, because it’s from the dream, yes, but it wasn’t—a sign of anything. It was a Feelings Dream, and Feelings Dreams are decidedly not destined or divine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” Fjord mutters into his cup, “Me neither.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Caduceus desperately wants to think that Fjord is lying. But desperation colors insight, so he can't be sure. Can he?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>caduceus' insight vs fjord's deception fight</p><p>comment and kudo!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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